


Wolves In The Wind

by jaskiersvalley (connorssock)



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Military, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blood and Injury, Get Together, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Injury, M/M, Minor Violence, Multi, Mutual Pining, One Instance of Homophobia, POV Outsider, Pining, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:08:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28112184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/connorssock/pseuds/jaskiersvalley
Summary: Witchers were the myths of the army, small teams of specialists who worked special missions. Cahir didn’t really believe in their existence, let alone thought he would be joining the Wolf Witchers. But there he was, with front row seats to some epic pining while navigating a romance of his own.
Relationships: Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach/Eskel/Lambert, Eskel/Lambert (The Witcher), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 9
Kudos: 131





	Wolves In The Wind

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Geralr/Jaskier Big Bang. Art by the incredible Jenniferb (https://jenniferb-art.tumblr.com/)

One stupid mistake, that was all it took for Cahir’s careful plans to topple. It was the wrong place, wrong time and with the wrong person. He had been so careful to always go a few towns over for any trysts or flings, always on the lookout to make sure nobody he knew was around. Really, it was bad luck that as he left the club, giggling and kissing a cute guy, who introduced himself as Aiden, when his name was called out. Of course it was Bonhart, sneering at him. There was no denying what Cahir had been doing and with who. Knowing Bonhart, it was enough and Cahir’s heart sank. He didn’t even bother going back to his one night stand’s for a good night, his heart was no longer in the right place.

Sure enough, Cahir was summoned to the office, Emhyr looked at him as he stopped by the sprawling desk at parade rest. For a long moment silence hung between them and Cahir knew what was coming.

“I’ve heard some very unsavoury gossip about the company you keep. It reflects very poorly on the army.”

There was nothing to say to that, Cahir wasn’t going to deny it but he wasn’t going to admit to anything either. Don’t ask, don’t tell it was all there for a reason. Despite popular belief, it hadn’t gone away and homophobia was still just as rampant in the army. As his case was about to prove.

“At the request of several of your company, you’re removed from post and will be reassigned in due course. However, I must warn you, any further missteps and I will not be able to keep turning a blind eye. There are standards.” Emhyr smiled even though it never reached his eyes. “Keep this up and a dishonourable discharge is the best I can promise. Wouldn’t want you hurt in a training mishap, would we? Dismissed.”

Cahir managed to keep it together until he got back to his room. The barracks were thankfully no longer shared damp holes called rooms, he had his own space but, if he was being reassigned, this little home he’d managed to cobble together was going be torn down.

Limbo was not a nice thing. Cahir still trained with the others, ran, did obstacle courses, gym sessions. However, Bohart gave him a sneer and none of his old company even talked to him. In short, it was hell. In a way, Cahir was grateful when the summons came for him to pack up. Everything he valued fit into a large gym bag and he put away clothes, the few personal effects with speed. Even if this was his dismissal, it had to be better than being a social ghost amongst people who, until recently, he had been prepared to die alongside.

At headquarters, Cahir was ushered into an empty room with a laptop on a desk, a single chair in front of it.

“Come sit down,” a voice called him. The door closed behind Cahir and he shoved his bag under the table, taking a seat. An older man, scarred and with a piercing stare looked him over. “For formality, please state your full name.”

“Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach, sir.”

“And you’re a specialist, yes?” The man hadn’t even bothered introducing himself.

“Yes sir, sniper.” Cahir could see papers being shuffled around and inspected. There was a sinking feeling in his stomach that it was his qualifying scores and records. Fuck.

The man had a passive expression, maybe even a little bored. “Not the best scores in your cohort. Fairly mediocre, nothing outstanding.”

Holding his tongue, Cahir stared at the screen. It would do him no favours to reply with a scathing remark. He still had no idea what was going on but ten plus years in the army had taught him not to ask questions or get snippy with superiors.

“Usually, I wouldn’t even consider you but your file has crossed my desk for different reasons.” The silence stretched and Cahir was fairly certain it had to do with the reason he had been removed from his previous post however, he didn’t say anything. “You’re a stoic one aren’t you, pup?”

Being called pup was not something Cahir looked upon favourably but he didn’t bristle, merely bit his tongue. It seemed to be the right thing to do because the man actually smiled. “Alright, let’s start over. You can call me Vesemir. There’s an opening for a sniper in a specialist unit and I think you’d fit perfectly. What do you say pup, want to give it a go? Or you want an out of the army?”

The problem was, Cahir didn’t want an out, he quite loved the army and the security it gave him. If only people were more tolerant. Weighing up his options, it wasn’t much of a debate.

“It would be my honour, sir.”

“Welcome to The Witchers,” Vesemir smiled and Cahir gulped. He’d heard of The Witchers, they were whispered about, a mythical group of specialists who operated in small groups of four or five. They were outside the regular army command structure and only the best of the best were cherry picked. Those who joined never returned. But Cahir hadn’t thought they were real. Until now. “Oh, and pup? Cut out the crap with the ‘sir’. Just call me Vesemir. The others will no doubt give you a host of other names to call me later on.”

The call cut out and Cahir was left staring at his reflection in the dark screen. His phone buzzing with a message roused him from the slightly slack jawed shock. Pulling it out, he found instructions to get to the tarmac to get on a carrier that would take him to his destination. Thankful that he only had a single bag to haul with him, Cahir set off and was intrigued to find the plane had been held for him.

“Enjoy the flight. Blankets and food are at the front,” the ground crew informed him and closed the bay door behind him.

Used to such travel, Cahir found a solid crate to lean against for takeoff. Once everything had levelled out, he made his way to the front and investigated the supplies. Obviously hastily thrown together, he grinned at the fact that some chocolate had been included. Either he was in for a really long flight or, whoever packed this together, thought he was off to some horrific destination. Cahir knew which he would prefer.

With his whole life in his bag, it was fairly easy to keep himself entertained and Cahir pulled a much loved, dogeared book from the depths of it. It was how he fell asleep, eyes slipping shut as familiar words blurred into one.

According to his watch, five hours had passed, he’d been flying for almost eight. It took Cahir a moment to realise it was the change in pressure that had woken him. Packing away, including the wrappers from his meal, Cahir was ready to jump off the plane as soon as the doors opened. There was another text waiting for him, one telling him to get to ‘Kaer Morhen’. When he asked one of the men unloading the plane, he gave Cahir a wide eyed look, glanced towards a hill in the distance that had a house sitting, half hidden in the trees. After that, nobody even dared look at Cahir. Okay then.

It was bloody cold. Cahir dug a jacket out of his bag as he looked up at the hill. More like a small mountain. There was no easy way up, no path and Cahir wondered whether he had been hazed as a newbie. However, there was nobody in the area he could ask so he began the arduous task of climbing, grateful he only had a single bag to lug up with himself. If this was a joke, he didn’t care about dishonourable discharges or anything like that, he was walking calmly back down the mountain to throttle the idiot who sent him up it. A few hours later he was sweating, jacket tied around his waist as he climbed the last stretch. Surely no army unit was up there, the house was a joke. He would sleep there one night before returning back with cold blooded murder on his mind.

As he climbed, Cahir couldn’t help but take in his surroundings with sniping in mind. It was the perfect position, not backed into the corner of the compound but not out in the centre either. The trees seemed perfect to climb and hide in, picking off invaders. Glancing up, he could almost see a path through the trees. In a rather childlike moment, he almost climbed a tree to see if he could but that could wait until the next day. First, he wanted to get to the house.

Darkness was licking at the sky when he finally made it to the top. Jetlag was definitely catching up with him as well as the need for food. He should have saved some of it for after landing, not that Cahir had known he would be hiking straight off the plane. That was just a bit rude. However, he stood outside the house and, much to his surprise, there were lights in the windows. Knocking, he waited, bag by his feet.

A holler of “I’ve got it!” from the other side of the door preceded it being yanked open and a dark haired man with scars over one eye looked over him, face morphing into a leer. Without saying anything, he turned to yell into the house at large.

“Buttercup! Did you order a strippergram again? If so, he’s here and I’m stealing him because he’s pretty!”

Reassuring words to say the least but Cahir was being beckoned inside so he picked up his bag. Even if it was all a misunderstanding and Cahir wasn’t meant to be there, he could hopefully spend the night before being shown an easier way down the mountain. Should he be so lucky, Cahir might even get fed.

A hand snagged Cahir by the elbow and an even larger guy winked at him, guiding him into the house. From where he stood, Cahir thought he was quite handsome until the man turned and revealed an impressive network of scars over his cheek, leaving a notch in his lips and extending up his temple. It made him no less handsome but in a very different way that Cahir could respect. Idly, he wondered just what kind of den of iniquity he had stumbled into where handsome, scarred men were calling dibs on him.

“Specialist?” A low, growling voice had everyone stilling. The man by Cahir’s elbow turned slowly, a sheepish little grin making him look all boyish.

Striding out of the other door was yet another man with a scar running over his eye. Whatever it was about this place, it seemed to collect rugged men with facial scarring. So much for Cahir fitting in.

“Eskel, get your paws off him. State your name, soldier.”

“Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach.” There was no evidence of rank or hierarchy so Cahir didn’t offer his customary ‘sir’ in deference, he just wasn’t in the mood.

There was a soft grunt from the apparent leader before he muttered “Vesemir said it would be a mouthful” which was met by a snicker from the yet unnamed man who opened the door.

“Did he now?” The punch to his shoulder was delivered without power or even a glance in his direction, as though this was a regular occurrence.

“Welcome to Kaer Morhen, Cahir.” A big hand was extended towards Cahir for a shake. “I’m Geralt, leader of this unit. The man trying to usher you to the basement is Eskel, my second and medic. Lambert is the demolitions expert. You’ll meet Jaskier at dinner, he’s our communications specialist.”

At least Cahir was in the right place, he didn’t need to march down the mountain and kill anyone. Now though, he had even more questions.

“Eskel, show him to his room, not the basement.”

Grumbling, Eskel nodded. “Like I would have taken you to the basement anyway.”

“Dare I ask what’s in the basement?”

“Fun!” Lambert announced as he decided to tag along, flanking Cahir’s other side. “The old man mentioned he’s getting us a sniper. We’ll have fun breaking you in.”

Wonderful. That was the attitude Cahir hated, when people were viewed as assets to shape into tools rather than individuals with their own needs and preferences.

“Break another bed and you’re paying for it this time,” Eskel talked over Cahir’s thoughts. And there was still no answer about what was in the basement. Shepherded up the stairs, Cahir was led to a door along a slightly worn corridor. Eskel opened the door and gestured in. “It’s not much but if you need anything, we can probably get it.”

The room was large. Much bigger than anything Cahir had ever had. And the bed wasn’t the standard single, it was a sprawling monstrosity that looked more comfortable than Cahir had dared hope for.

“Who am I sharing with?” Because such a room was definitely not for just one person.

A friendly clap to his shoulder and Lambert laughed. “That’s all yours baby. We’ll get the rest of your stuff brought up tomorrow. I assume you’ve left them with storage.”

Clutching his bag to his chest, Cahir looked a little sheepish. “It’s all here already.”

Two sets of eyes landed on his bag and they frowned. Eskel was the first to recover.

“We’ll let you make yourself at home, get settled. Come down the stairs and take the door on the left for the dining room.”

Just like that Cahir was alone again. He took a few steps into the room and looked around, a little at a loss. Dumping his bag on the bed, Cahir looked around, discovered an ensuite which was the most decadent thing he could have imagined. Deciding it was prime time for a shower, Cahir stripped out of his clothes and groaned in pleasure as cool water cascaded over him. Not five minutes later he was back by his bag, pulling clean clothes on. The others weren’t in uniform so he didn’t bother either, opting for jeans and a comfortable, soft jumper.

It would have been rude to go snooping, Cahir had been given instructions to go down the stairs and enter the dining room. If he stayed in his room, he would have only fallen asleep so he made his way down to properly meet and maybe befriend his new team.

As soon as he opened his door, Cahir could hear singing. Not even the rowdy, offensive songs. No, this was something much sweeter. Even more surprising was that the lone voice was sometimes joined by a soft baritone, rougher and less practiced but the voices melded quite wonderfully in melody.

Rounding the corner, Cahir only saw Lambert sat at the table, feet up on another chair and seemingly juggling with grenades. Which was a sight Cahir never thought he would see.

“Incoming!” Lambert hollered and chucked one through the door into what was presumably the kitchen. There was a wet plop and a growl of “Lambert!” which was followed by Geralt storming out of the kitchen and pelting Lambert in the stomach with a soup covered grenade.

Someone followed out after him, the singing stopping in favour of the new man saying “he was just ensuring the flavours would explode over your tongue.” It felt more like a family argument than a superior reprimanding an underling and Cahir wasn’t sure if he should even be there. This wasn’t a group he was part of.

“Oh hello!” He had been spotted by who he assumed was Jaskier. “You must be Cahir, I’m Jaskier, in charge of communicating because these idiots can’t speak a full sentence between them.”

Rather than a handshake, Jaskier pulled Cahir in for a hug and kept an arm slung around his shoulders, walking and talking. “Come sit, sit. Dinner is almost ready. Eskel sneaked in even though it’s his night off from cooking. So it will be amazing. I think he also managed to slip some pies in the oven for dessert.

“Damn right I did. We’re trying to impress tonight,” Eskel said as he came into the dining room and scowled. “Spit the grenade out.”

The strangest thing was, only Cahir did a double take to watch Lambert spit the now spit cleaned grenade out. Everyone else behaved like it was normal, everyday behaviour for Lambert to fit a whole grenade in his mouth. Not that Cahir was given much chance to ponder, as a scuffle interrupted as Geralt had evidently tried to wipe soup covered fingers in Lambert’s hair. With practised ease Eskel stepped around them and Jaskier steered Cahir out of the danger zone too.

A pointed clearing of his throat and Eskel managed to settle everyone down. The food was a fairly simple fare of soup laden with vegetables, meat and, oddly, the offer of a topping of sour cream. Never one to turn down trying something new, Cahir copied Jaskier and put a dollop in his bowl.

“It is delicious, thank you,” Cahir murmured.

“Better than a grenade, right?” Geralt nudged Lambert with a knowing smirk.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone put a whole, live grenade in their mouth.” It was meant to be a compliment and also a careful prying at whether it truly was a real thing or simply a realistic copy.

Snickering, Lambert shrugged. “It’s not the worst or the biggest thing I’ve put in my mouth. But you can appreciate that, can’t you?”

Something cold seized Cahir’s chest and he looked up sharply. “What’s that meant to mean?”

“Oh you know,” Lambert shrugged, seemingly not taking the hint. “We all know why you almost got booted and got lumped with us.”

A warning growl of “Lambert” from Geralt only meant that the table descended into an awkward silence and Cahir tried to fathom a way to make it clear that his sexuality was not a topic he wished to discuss.

“Look-” Lambert shrugged, “-all I’m saying is, Eskel’s dick is bigger than that. I think most dicks are.”

Jaskier stirred his soup slowly and looked up from it at Cahir with a small smile. “What Lambert is trying to say, in his most backwards way possible, is that we’ve been briefed on you and have all had the chance to veto your arrival before you were even approached about the role. There are no secrets at Kaer Morhen.”

“Yeah, we all know Buttercup only ended up in the army because his daddy dearest thought it would make a man out of him.” Lambert really wasn’t helping matters and Cahir shifted uncomfortably.

“And we know that Lambert is a juvenile delinquent who never quite grew out of his arsonist phase but now gets paid to make things go boom,” Jaskier shot back, sticking his tongue out.

Eskel shook his head at their antics and looked up at Cahir with a small quirk of his lips. “Welcome to the family. Geralt’s the stoic head until he gets caught up in shit while I tend to mother hen until they yell at me to back off.”

It really was a family, the way they behaved, so at ease with each other. Cahir wondered whether there was actually a space for him with them, they were all settled and knew each other - intimately if Lambert was to be believed. A foot nudged his under the table and he jerked, not expecting the touch.

“Sorry,” Jaskier murmured and his foot shifted again. Cahir didn’t miss the glance Geralt sent him. Maybe it was more than just Lambert and Eskel pairing up here but Cahir didn’t dare ask.

“Cahir,” Eskel’s voice cut through the general hubbub of Lambert and Geralt arguing over something, “got any stories from any tours you’ve been on?”

It seemed to settle the table a bit and they started sharing stories which were much more comfortable to discuss than why Cahir had ended up assigned to the Wolf Witchers. There were indeed pies to follow up the main course and Cahir found himself thoroughly appreciative of the good food. He was flagging though, the long day was catching up with him.

“You’ll have tomorrow off but after that you’ll be training with us,” Geralt announced.

Everyone retreated to their rooms after that, Geralt and Jaskier opposite each other, Cahir nextdoor to Geralt. Opposite him, Lambert and Eskel disappeared into the same room, seemingly lost in an argument over whether gummy rings or gummy worms melted better in the sun. Personally, Cahir thought they were both fools because obviously the bears or the cola bottles melted the best.

Sleeping in was something Cahir had rarely got to indulge in. However, with jetlag and everything else, his body had deemed it the perfect opportunity to crash. He woke with a bit of a startle, disoriented and confused. For the first time in a long time his back didn’t ache from an uncomfortable bed. By the time he stumbled from the shower, he was a little more coherent.

“Morning Cahir!” Geralt greeted him with a nod as Cahir wandered into the kitchen. He pulled a plate from the microwave. “Eskel saved you some pancakes.”

Touched by the thoughtful gesture, Cahir nodded his thanks and took the plate. He sat at the table and watched as Geralt stripped and cleaned guns methodically before putting them back together.

“Once you’re done, I’ll show you around the area,” Geralt said. “Jaskier’s composing and I made the other two run The Killer.”

That did not sound promising as Cahir was well aware that running The Killer was in his future too now. With such a name, he knew it wasn’t going to be easy. Instead of commenting on it, he simply nodded, used to doing as a superior demanded.

“It would be my pleasure, sir.”

A sharp look had him feeling like he’d fucked up with that one single sentence.

“No need for the “sir” bullshit,” Geralt rumbled. “Eskel was right last night, this is a family. Sure, I tend to give orders or make plans but that’s out in the field. When we’re home, I expect you to challenge me as much as the others do.”

It was such a different dynamic, Cahir tried to wrap his head around it but it wasn’t going to be an overnight change. Though he did hope he would be able to get used to it eventually.

After food, Geralt led him out of the house. “Oh, before I forget.” A key was given to Cahir. “You’ll probably want that.”

Surprised that the house locked with an old fashioned key, Cahir pocketed his copy with a murmured thanks. They walked down an overgrown trail until they got to a small clearing with a view over the rest of the army compound. In its own way, it was quite breathtaking.

“I never tire of the sight,” Geralt said and sat down on the grass. “It’s something that makes me want to come home.”

Not at all what Cahir had been expecting. He’d assumed he would get put through his paces, maybe be given a grand speech about his duty and loyalty. That he was free to be himself as long as it didn’t impact on his work. A little stunned, Cahir gracelessly flopped down next to Geralt.

“Is it the only thing that makes you want to come home?” It was a much deeper question than what he would usually ask someone he’s known for barely more than a day. Thankfully, Geralt didn’t seem to be offended or taken aback.

“Generally, wherever I am, my family is with me. It’s my job to make sure they all return, even if I don’t.”

That was both heartwarming and also isolating to hear. Cahir knew he didn’t fall under the umbrella of family, probably never would. The way the rest of the team behaved, it was painfully obvious that they had years of friendship behind them. It wasn’t the kind of bond that was forged in a short space of time, not even when it was a matter of almost dying together. Cahir had his fair share of friendships with foundations laid in such situations, he knew what those were like.

“The team is lucky to have you,” he offered quietly.

“And I’m lucky to have them.” There was laughter in the distance and Geralt rolled his eyes. “If they can laugh, they obviously haven’t run hard enough.”

There was a sudden yell that had Cahir jumping a little, however Geralt seemed absolutely unbothered. It helped that a few seconds later there was a holler of “you absolute bastard” and raucous laughter. Cahir could hear feet pounding in the distance but they were getting closer. He watched as Geralt turned towards some of the trees in obvious anticipation and, sure enough, Lambert burst from the trees, Eskel hot on his heels, launching into a full body tackle amidst laughter.

Pointedly, Geralt cleared his throat which got the attention of the two wrestling though, if Cahir was asked, he’d have said it looked more like foreplay. He quietly hoped Geralt wasn’t the kind to decide that his team hadn’t worked hard enough so sends them off for more, even worse routes.

“Geralt?” Jaskier’s voice floated towards them. “Have you got a minute?”

He appeared at the edge of the clearing, seemingly unperturbed by the sight of Lambert and Eskel on the ground. Perhaps it was a regular occurrence.

“We’ll keep Cahir company,” Lambert offered and rolled off Eskel to stare at them from upside down. “You run along with your bard.”

It took surprisingly little convincing to get Geralt going. He ambled up next to Jaskier who slung an arm around his shoulders and they walked back towards the house. Cahir couldn’t help but stare with a small, confused frown. It was no secret that Lambert and Eskel were together. But Geralt and Jaskier? Nobody had mentioned that.

“Are they-”

“Fucking? No,” Eskel cut in.

“Pining? Hell yes,” Lambert added. “It’s the worst case of it I’ve seen in all my years.”

“You’re younger than me,” Eskel groused and nudged Lambert. They picked themselves up from the ground.

“Can we help them?” Cahir asked and the twin wolfish grins made him think he had just asked the best question possible.

The short answer was yes, they absolutely could help them. However, the long answer was that it was a little more complicated. Geralt and Jaskier danced around each other for more than a few years now but at every twist and turn they managed to either mess things up or misinterpret things to such an extent even Lambert and Eskel were ready to scream.

A plan was hatched. Well, it wasn’t a plan as such, there were no detailed, graph enhanced slides or presentations. There wasn’t even a rough, bullet pointed list on a piece of scrap paper. What they did have though was an end goal: get Geralt and Jaskier together. The advantage Cahir had over Lambert and Eskel was the fact he was new, he could ask questions and the other two wouldn’t be wiser for it.

Best intentions firmly in place, Cahir felt an odd, easy sort of camaraderie with Lambert and Eskel. They seemed so intent on making sure everyone was okay. It was the kind of acceptance that Cahir had not really experienced before. That night, he went to bed hopeful that maybe this unusual team would make room in their hearts for him too.

The Killer, it turned out, truly lived up to its name. The five of them set out from the house, Geralt out front, Jaskier at the back. It started off quite alright, a seemingly straightforward run in a wooded area. Nothing Cahir hadn’t done before. Until the first fallen tree. Being in the middle meant that he got to watch Geralt vault over it and Lambert make a fancy flip. Keeping it simple, Cahir, much like Geralt, used a hand to brace himself as he went. There was no time to look behind at Eskel and Jaskier but there was no mistaking the jolly little “ta-dah” as Jaskier made it over.

They weren’t even running with packs and Cahir was already flagging. He wasn’t familiar with the terrain and had to watch for potholes, and other fun obstacles like branches to the face and brambles tangling his clothes like overly eager grabby hands.

“Regroup!” Geralt grunted and the lineup shifted. Jaskier danced out to the front, a true showman which was almost expected after all Cahir had heard. Lambert and Eskel fell to the back and Geralt was just ahead and to the side of Cahir. It afforded Cahir a clear view of the fact that Geralt’s eyes were glued to Jaskier’s backside. Interesting.

Slowly, everything fell away except the pounding of feet and trying to remember to breathe. If Cahir had thought the way down and round was difficult, it was nothing compared to the way up. It was a relief to find a rope swing over a creek where he could take a two minute pause while the others went over - Jaskier twice because he claimed to love this bit. A hand clapped Cahir on the back and he almost stumbled and missed Lambert’s wink.

“On the home stretch now!”

Thank fuck for that. Cahir could have wept in relief when the house came into view. The others seemed like they’d had a good workout but weren’t too strained by it. Jaskier seemed exceptionally invigorated. It was unfair.

“We should do it like this more often!” Somehow, Cahir was inclined to disagree with him. “When you make us run with packs, the swings are less fun.”

Trying to save face, Cahir gave staying upright a great attempt. Until Eskel helped him down, flopping down onto the ground with a happy little grunt.

“Not bad going for a first time,” he commended but Cahir didn’t feel like he deserved it in the slightest. Most surprisingly, Jaskier dropped down on his other side.

“Seriously. I had to be carried back for the last stretch. Communications department didn’t put a lot of effort into our physical fitness.”

“I threw up halfway through,” Lambert volunteered without shame. It was oddly reassuring to hear that the others had struggled too. Of course, that had to be ruined. “Not all of us can be freaks like Geralt and ask if that was it when he got back. So he went for a second loop to feel it.”

Laughing took too much effort and Cahir just huffed out what vaguely sounded like amusement. He got a pat to the chest from Jaskier for it, both reassuring but also entertained.

“We haven’t told you the best part. When you’re ready, we’re going out the back.”

“To shoot me?” Cahir managed to force out, chest still heaving. If it meant he never had to run The Killer again, he found he wouldn’t actually object to being taken out back and being shot like a dog.

However, Lambert snickered and kicked Cahir’s ankle playfully. “I’ll shoot you with my love gun if you ask nicely. I doubt Eskel would mind.”

A hum from beside Cahir wasn’t a clear response but before anything could be said, Eskel sat up and pinned Lambert with a glare. “I’ll only mind if you leave me out of it. I want to watch at least, preferably join in.” He held up a hand to silence Lambert. “And on the condition you never call your dick your ‘love gun’ again.”

“I’ll second that. Come on. I want to go soak.” Jaskier rolled himself upright while Lambert offered Eskel and Cahir a hand. Without even having to say anything, they both pulled and Lambert tumbled down with a yelp.

After some grousing and shoving, which was blatantly to give Cahir another minute before getting up, they made their way back into the house where Geralt had set out water and snacks. The door to the back was already open and Lambert breezed past everything, making a beeline for it.

“No! Don’t jizz in the tub!” He yelled much to Cahir’s surprise. There was a splash and more shouts. Valiantly, Eskel ignored it in favour of plying Cahir with drinks and a fruit pot.

Only once Cahir felt a little more steady was he guided out into what should have been the garden but was quite literally the edge of the forest. What was the most important thing though was the fact that there was a giant hot tub sequestered away. Jaskier was standing in it, looking indignant while Geralt’s eyes were roaming over his body. Plus, there were a pair of legs sticking out, only to suddenly slither down and Lambert’s head popped up. Hopefully he was wearing swimming trunks. At least Jaskier was.

“Hot tub rules,” Lambert announced with an easy grin. “If you need to piss, get out. There’s plenty of trees around here. Clothes are optional but if you don’t wear trunks, expect to be flicked in the nuts. And, finally, no food in the tub.”

It all seemed fairly straightforward, though Cahir hoped he wouldn’t be expected to flick anyone in the nuts. That kind of familiarity was not something he felt he had with the others just yet.

“You can borrow some of my swimming stuff,” Jaskier offered and Cahir nodded, wondering whether it was obvious that he didn’t exactly have any.

“Or Lambert’s,” Eskel cut in. “I don’t think sparkling turquoise budgie smugglers are your kind of thing.”

They definitely didn’t sound like Cahir’s kind of thing. Not that Lambert’s bright red trunks were much better but at least they felt a little less pop diva and more racing driver. However, that all fell by the wayside when he slipped into the water and sighed as it soothed aching muscles.

“That’s right,” Lambert rolled his head lazily to look at Cahir. “A perk of being a Witcher. Hot tub that’s ours to use whenever we want.”

It most certainly was a perk and Cahir hummed in agreement, eyes closing. Though this level of comfort probably meant that they were put through worse things than the average soldier. Hopefully it was going to be worth it. Judging by the scars he’d spied on the others, they had seen a lot of shit. But, perhaps most surprising, were the tattoos. Geralt, Eskel and Lambert all had a stylised wolf’s head on their sternum. Meanwhile, Jaskier had a buttercup under his collarbone. Those were the most eye drawing ones but there were others. Eskel seemed to have a half woman half goat down his side, Lambert had a cat with maniacal eyes on his shoulder which was bisected by a scar, while Geralt...oh. Suddenly Cahir understood why the other two were sick and tired of the pining. Because on Geralt’s shoulderblade was a blossomed dandelion with its seed blowing in the wind. In direct response, in the same spot, Jaskier had a wolf with yellow eyes. There was pining and then there was  _ pining _ and Cahir now knew how far into the latter territory the two had strayed. Even worse, they were in the hot tub but there was a more than respectable amount of distance between the two. Lambert and Eskel had no such problems, half draped over each other. Hell, even they were sat closer to Cahir than Geralt sat to Jaskier.

Lambert saw how Cahir watched the two and leered before less than subtly tipping his head towards the house. As Eskel was already making noise about getting out, it was all too easy for Cahir to follow. Last to join them was Lambert and they all secretively scurried up to the room the two shared. Quietly, they opened up the window and peered out, the hot tub just about in their sight.

“They haven’t moved any closer,” Eskel grumbled.

“Two guys, chilling in a hot tub, five feet apart.” Even Cahir felt the need to smack Lambert in the arm for that. However, because he was the better person, he refrained. Thankfully, Eskel didn’t and there was the soft thump of a hand meeting a well muscled shoulder.

“Ow.”

“That didn’t hurt,” came the growled response.

“You hurt my feelings.”

Muttering an “and my brain” under his breath, Cahir watched Jaskier and Geralt. They seemed to get on quite fine, Jaskier doing most of the talking while Geralt hummed along. However, his eyes were fixed on Jaskier and, as Jaskier gestured with his hands, looking all over the place, Geralt’s eyes softened.

“Holy shit, he smiled!” Lambert actually sounded ecstatic. The only problem was, Cahir hadn’t seen a single hint of a smile from Geralt. Maybe Eskel had hit him too hard and in the head rather than the shoulder. “Look!”

So Cahir looked. He strained his eyes but there was not a single hint of a smile. Maybe, if he wanted to, he could interpret that softening of Geralt’s gaze and the slight dimpling at the corners of his mouth as a smile but that really was pushing it.

It got less straightforward when Eskel let out a soft whistle. “He’s pining so bad. Just kiss already!”

Looking between Lambert and Eskel, Cahir tried to figure out just what they were seeing because whatever it was, it had to be imagined. Just as he was about to ask, an arm yanked at the towel around his waist while Lambert hissed a harsh “shit”. Unfortunately, Cahir tumbled backwards with a yelp and landed in a tangle of sharp limbs and warm muscles.

“I don’t think they saw us,” Lambert hissed. He was quickly disproven by some wet, balled up swimwear sailing through the window and hitting Cahir in the chest. “I think I was wrong.”

Inclined to agree, Cahir plucked the teal coloured cloth and noted the peacock feather details on it. “Wait. Wasn’t Jaskier wearing this?”

As one, the three scrambled to the window, only to catch a glimpse of a completely naked and shameless Jaskier swanning into the house. Predictably, Geralt’s gaze followed him. Cahir was ready to admit that the other two were right, Geralt was pining like a professional.

All in all, it was quite strange to witness Geralt and Jaskier’s dance. Because while Jaskier was touchy-feely and friendly with everyone, there was something much more gentle and hopeful that was reserved for Geralt. Whether it was something Geralt couldn’t or wouldn’t see was up for debate. Though, given how his eyes always tracked Jaskier, Cahir was inclined to conclude that he couldn’t see it because of the incessant way Geralt stared at Jaskier’s arse so much. Love eclipsed by lust and a literal full moon because, Cahir learned, Jaskier was not body shy in the slightest. Half the time he wandered the house in shirts whose buttons had probably never seen a single day of being used. 

Training together was gradual. They ran The Killer a couple of times, always pressing harder on a stretch furthest from the house with minimal chatter. The one time Cahir had tried to ask, Eskel shushed him, softly muttering something about waking Old Speartip. Who or what Old Speartip was remained a mystery until Geralt sent Cahir and Jaskier out to run The Killer. It may have been a punishment run which may have been well deserved.

The runup to running The Killer again went something like this:

Lambert and Eskel were cleaning and sorting weapons, as they did on a weekly basis. Jaskier was in an armchair to the side, his feet up on the table and sometimes nudging a part with his toes and making a comment on it. He had kicked at the grenade launcher.

“Why do we even have this? It’s less than subtle.”

“As if anything about you is subtle,” Lambert had griped, eyeing the red leather jacket artfully draped over Jaskier and Cahir found himself nodding along. Nothing about Jaskier was even mildly subtle.

Even Eskel seemed to concur. “Plus, you never know. It might come in handy.”

“But Esk,” Lambert whined, eyeing Jaskier who had taken a swig of some fruity, sugary drink. “I come in your handy too.”

He had to have planned and timed it, Cahir was certain because Jaskier was spraying his mouthful of drink over the table and coughing as it dribbled from his nose. Lambert cackled, Eskel looked disappointed that their hard work had been undone. Unfortunately, Cahir had also been in the firing line and Geralt walked in on the pandemonium right as an empty coke bottle bounced off Jaskier’s head with unerring accuracy. There was no discussion, Cahir and Jaskier were given their punishment and they were out on their arses, told to run it double time and not come back until they could barely walk.

So that was how they were out and, if it had been any other occasion, Cahir would have been appreciative of the view. The setting sun, filtering through the trees was quite beautiful. It also made dodging potholes and sneaky roots a bitch.

“Ever wanted to stop and take a picture?” he huffed. The more he ran the circuit, the easier it became. Even when the team finally took delivery of a sniper rifle and a few other bits for him and they did a fully kitted run, Cahir was slowly finding that he could keep stride and not die by the end. That didn’t mean he wasn’t tempted to stop every now and then.

Cahir knew there was a reason he liked Jaskier. Right now, that reason was the fact that Jaskier stopped and let Cahir fish his phone out for a couple of truly stunning pictures. They were standing on a fallen log, Cahir trying to capture the full spectrum of colour in the sky when there was a rustling from the undergrowth. He felt Jaskier still next to him, as one, they turned to look just in time to see a wild boar erupt from the bushes with an angry squeal.

“Oh shit! Jaskier grabbed Cahir by the elbow, dragging him so he almost dropped his phone. “Old Speartip! Run!”

Fumbling, Cahir stuffed his phone into a pocket and took off. The angry grunts and pig screams were more than enough to have him sprinting down the path with Jaskier. Outrunning a pig was impossible and they were never going to make it. Cahir vaulted after Jaskier, over a fallen log and cursed. They needed to get out of the pig’s reach.

“Up!” He shouted to Jaskier “Here!”

The tree he picked was quite easy to scale, a low hanging branch enough to pull up onto and clamber higher. Turning, Cahir hooked his legs over a solid branch and tipped back, arms out to help pull Jaskier to safety. They climbed higher and huddled on a branch, panting harshly as Old Speartip raged below them. Huffing out a laugh, Jaskier tipped his head back against the trunk, closed his eyes and let out a laugh.

“Holy shit.” Funnily enough, Cahir was inclined to agree. “We’re not telling Geralt about this.”

Once again, Cahir was in full agreement. They shouldn’t have stopped to take pictures for one. Plus, Jaskier should have probably known better than to allow them to dally in Old Speartip’s territory. Not like Cahir had much of an excuse, each run they did, Geralt made a point of telling him which stretch had to be done at speed and at full alert.

Most frustratingly, Old Speartip seemed to have a grudge and he was not best pleased with the invaders to his stomping ground. They waited, slowly catching their breath, less panicked now that they were high up and in relative safety. Cahir was inclined to say temporary safety because Old Speartip was not moving. The boar was out for blood, every bit the vicious little fucker that Geralt had made him out to be. However, it was rapidly getting dark and they couldn’t sleep in a tree, waiting for a wild boar to get bored of them.

“Want to take a short cut?” Cahir asked, eyeing the trees around them.

“We’re not playing bucking bronco with Old Speartip!”

Grinning, Cahir shimmied one branch higher and hopped over to the next tree, the branch bowing under his weight a little as he landed. “I was thinking more George of the Jungle.”

“What’s wrong with Tarzan?”

Looking back, Cahir wasn’t surprised in the slightest to find Jaskier pouting. “Have you seen us? We’re no Tarzan, not even Jane.”

Old Speartip followed them from tree to tree, grunting and snuffling angrily. As they travelled, Cahir couldn’t help the gentle probing.

“What’s the deal with you and Geralt?” Not the smoothest opening but the military didn’t teach him charisma, they taught him how to kill quietly and from a distance.

“What’s the deal with you, Lambert and Eskel?” Jaskier shot back and grunted as he hopped onto the next tree.

Maybe it was a fair question but Cahir had no idea what to say. He had eyes, he could appreciate handsome, witty, rugged men who shared a similar lifestyle and interests as him. Most people shied away from him when they realised he wasn’t just in the army but was a sniper. To be so directly involved with killing was a bit of a turn-off for some. To plant explosives or get involved in a shootout could be brushed off as collateral. But to pick off a specific target from a distance was much more difficult to reconcile.

“If I’m honest, will you be too?” He could just about make out Jaskier’s nod in the twilight. “I like them. They’re hilarious, good looking and their competency is sexy as hell. But I know they’re together and playful flirting doesn’t mean anything. I would never jeopardise their relationship for a roll in the hay with either or both of them.”

“That’s fair.” Jaskier paused as he wobbled on a branch, trying to right himself. “Geralt is my muse. My White Wolf. He’s aloof and stoic.” There was something wistful to Jaskier’s voice, dreamy but also sad. “I’m not his type and I’ve made my peace with it. I can admire and worship from afar. He’s far out of my league and that’s okay.” In the same breath, he was turning the conversation back on Cahir. “If Lambert and Eskel offered more than a night, would you take them up on the offer? Become a triad?”

Without hesitation, Cahir replied, “Yes. You and Geralt?”

“In a heartbeat.”

They carried on in silence for a while. Under them, Old Speartip was seemingly mostly okay with escorting them to the edge of his territory. However, neither Cahir nor Jaskier wanted to risk angering the wild boar so they kept to their treetop route until they were near the edge of the clearing where the house sat.

“Not a word of this to Geralt,” Jaskier mumbled as they dropped down to the ground and, in a half jog to keep up appearances, emerged from the treeline.

Three silhouettes greeted them. Lambert was leaning against the house, a leg up and looking far too much like he was about to witness the best entertainment of his life. Geralt was out front with his arms crossed over his chest, Eskel one step behind and to the side, holding something near their shoulders.

“George and Jane!” Lambert hollered and waved. Shit.

The scariest thing was how stone faced the other two were. They didn’t move a muscle until Cahir and Jaskier were within talking distance.

“This is quite the welcome,” Jaskier tried to joke. His words were echoed moments later from the phone Eskel was holding. “The fuck?”

Dutifully, the phone repeated, “The fuck?”

With minimal showmanship, Eskel hung up the phone and stared passively at them. For the first time in a long time, Cahir felt like a naughty child back in school, caught smoking in the toilets.

“You stopped in Old Speartip’s territory.” Geralt held a hand up and started counting off their mistakes. “You got chased by Old Speartip. You weren’t going to tell me.”

Chastised, Cahir fell into parade rest, chin up and eyes ahead, as it had been drummed into him from the start of his career. By contrast, Jaskier had a hand on his hip, the other kept coming up and his mouth opened to interrupt Geralt but never having a chance until their leader was actually finished being disappointed in them.

“I’ll call it a team bonding experience,” Jaskier announced.

“And I’d call it a near death experience,” Eskel growled. “Do you know how stressful it was, listening to the two of you escape him without being able to help?”

It was the moment Lambert picked to stalk closer, looking like an excessively entertained predator. “I personally was quite a fan of your little heart to heart. Most touching.” He winked and Cahir was so very glad he could keep a straight face. Because otherwise he would have been stammering, flushing bright red and wishing the earth would swallow him up. On the inside, he still felt like that but at least on the surface he looked absolutely blank.

“There’s a mission on the horizon,” Geralt announced. “Tomorrow we’re live training. Jaskier, I need a word with you.”

Just like that, Geralt turned and marched into the house, Jaskier falling into step behind him. To anyone else, he looked just as jovial and carefree. But it was all for show, there was a tightness and careful control to his loping movements that betrayed his inner turmoil.

As Cahir relaxed, Eskel gave him a once over, snorted and shook his head. However, anything he wanted to say was cut off by Lambert bouncing closed.

“Yes, we need to talk too. But we need to go eavesdrop too. There’s only one chance to listen and many chances to talk!”

Employing their collective sneaking skills, they rounded the house and crouched silently by the kitchen window which, by a small miracle, was open.

“You heard it all,” Jaskier said as they stepped in and Geralt sighed. Even without seeing them, Cahir could imagine Jaskier settling in to sit on the counter while Geralt leaned against it. Probably with his back to Jaskier, arms braced against the surface and head dipped between his shoulders.

“Everyone heard it.”

There was a defiant inhale of breath before Jaskier spoke again. “I’m not sorry.”

“I know. They all knew anyway.” The silence between them was painful and Cahir wanted so badly to believe they were kissing. However, there wasn’t any sound of movement, no sigh between kisses or anything like that. “And you know I can’t do anything about it.”

“Why?” Petulance coloured Jaskier’s voice. “You always say that but never explain why.”

Suddenly, Cahir felt like he shouldn’t be listening in on the conversation. Obviously this was something personal and, if they were to believe, something they had already discussed. Repeatedly.

“We have a mission coming up. I can’t tell you more about it yet. But it’s big, Jask. And I can’t-” Geralt cut himself off. “We’ll talk after it, okay? I promise.”

“You said that last time too.” Defeat made Jaskier’s voice quiet. “I don’t know how much longer I can do this for. Just tell me no outright and that’s fine. But these promises which never amount to much more than empty words? Those hurt worse than anything else.” The sound of feet hitting the floor suggested Jaskier was getting ready to leave. “I’ll see you around, Geralt.”

The kitchen door opened and swung shut with a quiet click. It almost drowned out Geralt’s quiet yet no less heart wrenching “Jask, I’m sorry”. While Jaskier didn’t hear it, the other three certainly did and they shared a knowing look. This hadn’t been meant for their ears, not in the slightest and they guiltily slinked off.

“We’ll talk tomorrow,” Eskel said. “Doesn’t feel right to do it now. Not after-” rather than finish, he gestured towards the kitchen with his head. More somber than usual, Lambert nodded and Cahir found he was inclined to agree too.

Dinner was a strained affair, Jaskier stayed in his room, Geralt moodily stabbed at his plate and growled if anyone tried to engage with him. In the end, Lambert and Eskel left for their room, not wishing to draw Geralt’s ire.

“Was it the show you wanted?” Geralt grumbled as Cahir cleared the table. “I know you were listening by the window.”

“No.” There was no desire in Cahir to elaborate but Geralt whipped his head up and stared at him. The glare was intimidating, sure but Cahir had seen much worse. However, he still ended up saying more. “We were all rooting for you two. I don’t know why you’d deny yourself a sliver of happiness.”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“You’re right, I don’t,” Cahir snapped. “And I don’t think I want to. Your logic is flawed no matter how I look at it. Is it because of ethics? Isn’t Eskel technically your second so Lambert’s superior? Or because you don’t want to make the first move? It sounds like you’re both well beyond that.” Geralt glowered but Cahir brushed it off. “Now, Jaskier hasn’t had dinner. Are you going to take the plate Eskel set aside up to him? Or will you be a coward and make me do it?”

He’d pushed a little too far because Geralt clenched his jaw. “You do it.”

It was no skin off Cahir’s nose and he grabbed the plate, resisting the urge to be dramatically noisy about it to show his disapproval. Instead, he took it upstairs and knocked softly on Jaskier’s door. After a minute, it swung open and Jaskier stood there. He hadn’t been crying but he looked absolutely miserable.

“I thought you’d be with the other two,” he bit out bitterly.

Cahir stepped into the bedroom with the plate before replying. “We’ve agreed to save the talking for tomorrow. For now, I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

The plate was set on the bedside table and Cahir pretended not to see the open drawer with a sparkling (and quite possibly glow in the dark) tail butt plug. Some things just didn’t need mentioning. Especially not when Jaskier looked so morose.

“I’m okay,” Jaskier replied, forcing out a cheerful smile. “I’m always okay. Maybe some days I’m less okay than others, but always some level of okay.”

Deciding not to argue, Cahir nodded. “I wasn’t sure whether you’d want to be alone this evening.”

As far as he knew, Jaskier was a very social creature, always prattling on or singing near anyone who would listen. Most often, his ‘victim’ was Geralt who’d hum and grunt but that seemed more than enough for Jaskier. Now though, Jaskier seemed so subdued and not at all like his usual bubbly self.

“I appreciate the company,” Jaskier said politely. They both knew Cahir’s company wasn’t the one he’d been hoping for though. Not that Cahir could begrudge him. If it had been up to him, he would have been with Lambert and Eskel, sorting his own mess out. However, that could wait. One more night of uncertainty wasn’t going to harm any of them. Not when the other two in their family needed help more.

The thought struck Cahir then. He’d started thinking of the team as his family. Even though he hadn’t been there long, they already felt closer than anyone else had. They’d welcomed him with open arms, and accepted him as he was. No demands to change, to fit in, no hazing or treating him like an outsider. The only thing Cahir still didn’t know was what exactly was in the basement. Or where it was, for that matter. Nowhere in the house had he seen a door or stairs leading down. Other than that mystery, Vesemir had been right. He felt he fit in with the others quite perfectly.

“Why don’t we talk about tomorrow’s training?” Jaskier pulled Cahir from his thoughts. “So, live training is basically paintball. Two teams, Vesemir sends Geralt camp locations and he hands one of them over blind. We find and eliminate the other team or steal their flag, returning it to our own camp. Whichever happens first results in a winning team.”

Actually, that sounded like quite a bit of fun. Though there was always a catch with these things.

“We start at 5am.” There it was. But an early morning wasn’t too much of an issue. “So I would recommend an early night. Get plenty of sleep. And Cahir?” Jaskier laid a hand on Cahir’s arm. “I hope I’m on your team.”

It was a signal for Cahir to go. As much as he wanted to stay and make sure Jaskier was okay, sometimes there was nothing that could be done to heal an aching heart. He was at the door, hand on the knob before he turned.

“He does love you, you know.” It was said softly, Cahir unsure whether he actually wanted Jaskier to hear it or not.

The sad little smile he got in return was bitter. What was even worse was the look in Jaskier’s eyes as he spoke. “I know. Otherwise I wouldn’t fight so hard for him.”

Four thirty in the morning came round far too early and Cahir groaned as he rolled out of the clutches of his bed. It was unimaginably comfortable and a struggle to get out of. Some mornings, like that one, Cahir actually missed his old standard issue cot. At least getting out of it wasn’t such a herculean task.

Thankfully by the time five o’clock rolled round, Cahir was awake and traipsing out into the clearing in front of the house. Geralt was already outside and there were weapons as well as overalls by his feet. He nodded to Cahir and his stance visibly shifted when someone else appeared from inside. Jaskier looked like his usual, bouncy self and he greeted them both as if nothing had happened the previous night. Last but not least were Lambert and Eskel. They were giggling over something and gave jovial waves as they joined the groups.

“Teams,” Geralt announced, “after yesterday’s shenanigans, Cahir and Jaskier, you’re together. Lambert and Eskel, you’re with me.”

“Oh shit.” Both Lambert and Jaskier cursed at the same time while Eskel looked at Geralt with a raised eyebrow.

Not accepting any criticism or comments, Geralt held out two envelopes. “Pick a camp. Sync watches. You have fifteen minutes to get set up and make a plan. It’s free for all from oh five twenty.”

Jaskier snatched an envelope, grabbed two guns, two coveralls, two masks and a bag with a flag sticking out, before tugging Cahir away. They still heard Eskel’s “they really pissed you off last night, didn’t they?” as the trees swallowed them up.

Once out of sight, Jaskier made Cahir stop and they got dressed, tearing the envelope open. Their camp was halfway down the mountain. Around them, the forest was coming alive with birdsong. Cahir always had wondered why it was okay for birds to scream for sex so early in the morning but if he ever did that, he’d get arrested.

“Okay,” Jaskier actually looked a little nervous. “This is going to be a bit of a slaughter.”

To say Cahir was a bit offended was an understatement. Just because he was a new and unknown quantity didn’t mean he was useless. Puffing out his chest, he was about to call Jaskier out on it.

“No, don’t get all uppity,” Jaskier patted him on the chest. “You’ve not seen the three work together. To be hunted by one wolf is terrifying. Two is a nightmare. Three-” he trailed off with a whistle. “You’ll have the most awkward and confused boner if you have a competence kink.”

How Jaskier could call that was a mystery but Cahir’s mouth snapped shut.

“So what’s our plan?” he asked in the end.

“Try and survive for as long as we can? I have no idea. Usually I have two wolves with me as we go against the third.” Jaskier had a grin on his face at a memory. “And sometimes one of them would turn traitor.”

That did sound quite fun and Cahir wished he could experience that too. Maybe in the future. But it seemed that Geralt was intent on punishing them for the previous night’s mishap and Cahir was determined to prove that he wasn’t useless. He’d always had a bit of an ego about certain things and this definitely kicked it up a notch.

“Alright. The way I see it, we can either hang back and defend the flag, trying to pick them off as they sneak to steal it. Or we hunt down their camp.” Cahir looked around at the area designated as their camp. “I may have an idea.”

He picked up one of the walkietalkies they’d been provided with and smiled. Perfect.

“Do you know how to imitate a cuckoo?” When Jaskier shook his head, Cahir raised his cupped hands to his lips to demonstrate. Within a minute, they were both making cuckoo sounds and giggling.

Cahir’s plan was simple enough. He and Jaskier had been nimble enough the night before to travel through the trees. To start with, Cahir would hide in the trees with Jaskier. It gave them the perfect scope to watch for approaching wolves. They hid one of the walkie talkies in a bush, a few meters from the camp and, when someone approached, Jaskier would sing into his one softly, hopefully drawing out any accompanying wolf. Because it made sense to Cahir that if there were three people on a team, two would be out hunting while one defended. Probably Geralt and Lambert out while Eskel guarded the flag.

At 5:20 nothing happened. Not that Cahir really expected any great horn to sound or anything. He and Jaskier were a few trees apart, mostly hidden from view. From experience, nobody looked up so they were safe. In the silence of the forest, Cahir could see Jaskier getting restless so he brought his hands up to his mouth and let out a cuckoo’s trill. It had Jaskier’s head whipping round to grin at him and the reply came. That seemed to be enough to settle Jaskier and his incessant need for noise and movement.

There was a rustling from the bushes and Cahir zeroed in on the noise, rifle pressed into his shoulder. Lambert popped out of the brambles and scanned the area before grinning and trotting towards the flag. Raising his hand, Cahir watched, counted silently until Lambert was a few steps away and dropped his arm. On the other side of the clearing, the walkie talkie came to life.

“Toss a coin to your witcher,” Jaskier sang. “Oh valley of plenty. Oh valley of plenty.”

Lambert dropped to the ground as he turned towards the sound but didn’t move. Which meant he wasn’t alone. Sure enough, Cahir spotted a blur of silver amongst the green. He pointed to Jaskier then to Lambert. This time, they didn’t count, Cahir lined his shot up, waited for the “shit” and Geralt’s head to pop up. The sound of paintballs thwacking into muscled bodies was really quite satisfying. Lambert yelped and clutched and his side while Geralt grunted. Just to be safe, Jaskier shot Lambert a few more times with a giggle to a lot of yelling.

Walking into the clearing, Geralt’s hands were up and Cahir was mildly smug that paint was splattered over his heart. If it had been real bullets, Geralt would be dead while Lambert would look like a well used pin cushion.

“You two can stay here,” Cahir called from the trees. The look of sour surprise from the other two was one to treasure. “We’ll be back with your flag soon.” And, if they were feeling like showing off, they would also bring Eskel, all trussed up.

Jaskier hopped down from the trees and took a path along the ground while Cahir followed from up high in the direction the other two had appeared from. They walked slowly and Cahir called Jaskier with their cuckoo signal when he spotted what was likely to be the camp. Only, Eskel was nowhere in sight. It was pure luck that Jaskier didn’t glance up in Cahir’s direction and gave his position away. They approached slowly and Cahir settled in a tree. This was potential a sacrificial run for Jaskier. He went in, grabbed the flag and, if Eskel shot, if would reveal his position so Cahir could pick him off.

What followed was a tense few minutes where Jaskier crept into the camp, plucked the flag from the bag and turned to dash back. It was pure bad luck that his path collided with Eskel rising from the undergrowth like some overgrown, hibernating ball of moss. Cahir watched Jaskier bodily bounce off him and go sprawling onto his back with a winded ‘oof’. Shooting Eskel took no time at all. One in the shoulder and one in the back as he turned. Not fatal but debilitating. There was a splash of colourful paint on the ground next to Jaskier’s head, a shot that missed by mere centimeters.

“Holy shit,” Jaskier breathed and laughed brightly. “We won!” Getting up he jumped, fists in the air and let out a loud whoop. “We won!”

Dropping out of the tree, mask in hand, Cahir twirled at the sound of clapping and was winded when someone barrelled into him.

“Fuck me you’re sexy when you’re all serious and snipery,” Lambert murmured as he held Cahir close in a hug. The ambush of the hug was only outdone by the surprise as Lambert pulled away, only to mash their lips together in a messy kiss.

“Oi!” Eskel sounded cross as anything. “I thought we said we’d wait!”

Pulling away, Lambert looked anything but sorry, eyes crinkling. He picked up Cahir and put him in front of Eskel. “If you want a turn.”

The look Eskel gave Cahir was full of contemplation as he pulled his own mask off. There was a question in the quirk of his lips and Cahir decided to solve the issue for him, leaning in slowly for a more gentle kiss. It gave Eskel plenty of time to pull away if he wanted to. Thankfully, he didn’t.

A wolf whistle pierced the air followed by Lambert’s enthusiastic yell of “hell yeah! Get a room. And by that, I mean come back to our room!”

Remembering where he was, Cahir pulled away with a soft blush and ran a tongue over his lips, tasting Eskel on them. His eyes flicked to Jaskier and Geralt who were standing and pointedly not staring at anyone or anything. In fact, Jaskier seemed to be preoccupied with non-existent dirt on his sleeve while Geralt was fussing with his weapon.

“All done?” he growled without looking up.

“You know-” Eskel started but Geralt shut him up with a growl.

“I know that the best thing you can do is shut the fuck up.” He turned on his heels. “We’re going back to the house for a debrief. This was a shameful show on our part.”

That last comment was a little offensive if Cahir thought too much about it. He tried not to let it rile him up as they walked back towards the house, swinging by to pick up the remnants of the base he and Jaskier had set up. Once the forest was left in the same state they’d found it in that morning, they traipsed back to the house. A glance over his shoulder revealed Lambert and Eskel at the back, walking hand in hand. The leer Lambert sent Cahir had him a little flustered, remembering how he’d caught Geralt staring at Jaskier’s backside. Up front, Geralt walked with lone determination while Jaskier trailed behind, half a step in front of Cahir.

Back at the house, they all filed into the kitchen, grabbing some water and cereal before flopping down into chairs around the dining room table. It was the most informal debrief Cahir had had in all his life. As much as he dreaded the mood of it, given Geralt’s generally sour disposition, it didn’t all go badly. In fact, it was quite positive. He and Jaskier got commended for using the environment to their advantage and for setting up a decoy with the walkie talkies. Lambert got chastised for dropping to the ground without any cover and Eskel for attempting to engage in hand to hand combat when he should have retreated.

“And I’m sorry for letting the team down,” Geralt finished. “I shouldn’t have been so overconfident. Should have masked my surprise and disappointment better at realising I’d been duped by a walkie talkie.”

“I suppose we can forgive you,” Lambert drawled with a snicker. “You’re on sous chef duties tonight. And you can give Eskel a night off.”

Geralt glared at him. If looks could kill, Lambert would have been dead, Cahir was certain. However, he kind of appreciated Geralt’s stance too. Because if Eskel was off, it meant Jaskier would be in the kitchen. Unless Cahir himself was going to be the chef?

“He and I need to have a chat with Cahir. We’ll be in our bedroom.” At least that put that concern to rest. Which meant Lambert was forcing the issue of Jaskier and Geralt’s lack of relationship. Definitely a dick move but maybe necessary.

“I thought I would get a reward for being on the winning team!” Jaskier chirped with a small pout.

“Your new sous chef is your prize.” The laugh from Lambert wasn’t kind but it wasn’t malicious either. “You know where the knives are, songbird. If he is so heartless, you can always carve out the shrivelled black thing from his chest and cook it. It’s not like he was using it anyway.”

A leg connected with Lambert’s shin under the table but Cahir couldn’t tell who it had been. Children, the lot of them.

The rest of the day passed in a pleasant blur for the most part. Cahir washed the sweat of the training away, mindful of Lambert’s suggestions earlier so he was careful to clean up thoroughly, not knowing what to expect. He watched as Eskel tried to learn to knit while he read a book in the living room. For his part, Jaskier had brought his lute down and was singing the song from earlier, seemingly driving Geralt mad but each time he looked to stop or change song, Lambert flicked another coin at him. He was like the world’s most loyal jukebox. At some point Geralt disappeared but nobody seemed too worried.

“If we’ve got a mission coming up, he’s probably talking to the old fart a lot.”

“Call Vesemir by his rightful title.” Eskel tapped Lambert on the top of his head with a knitting needle. “Santa Claus.”

Cahir bit back on a laugh at that but Jaskier caught it.

“I don’t know. I still think Big Cheese suits him better. You know how old people always smell of cheese and he’s veritably ancient. But Geralt always gets so cross if we call him Daddy Ves or Papa.”

All the jovial banter was cut short by Geralt appearing in the doorway. “Dining room. We have a briefing.”

Immediately, the whole atmosphere changed. Knitting, books, lute, they were all set aside and they settled back in the dining room where Geralt had a packet of files, freshly printed by the smell of it.

“We move out tomorrow. Read your intel, make sure you understand it. Questions and outline in five.”

As far as Cahir understood it, they were to fly out the next day, destination was unimportant, Jaskier spoke the local dialect and Eskel was deemed proficient too which was enough. Their target was located in a compound which they would infiltrate, Cahir would be on the ground rather than at a distance as a sniper. It was fine, he wasn’t a one trick pony and had a variety of training. What was more interesting was their target: Stregobor.

The briefing was quite comprehensive and Cahir didn’t have much in the way of questions when the group was brought back together to discuss it. By the sounds of it, their info packets had all been tailored to their own specialities while keeping each other aware of the others’ roles and how they slot into the plan. That was most certainly unusual and Cahir suspected Geralt had something to do with it.

“If there are no more questions, you know what happens next,” Geralt said, voice carrying across the table with gravitas.

“Basement!” Lambert all but whooped and he was out of his chair, bouncing out of his seat and pushing at the table before anyone else had even got up yet. With an affronted growl, Eskel shoved the table back in Lambert’s direction when he found he couldn’t get up no matter how far back he scooted his chair. The rug underneath was flipped up by Jaskier with no ceremony and a trapdoor, with a lock either side, was revealed. Eskel and Geralt pulled keys from chains around their necks and Cahir watched with great interest as they opened the mythical basement door. He couldn’t fathom what lay beyond but Lambert seemed ready to explode with excitement. Next to Cahir, Jaskier stood there, watching with resigned indulgence, he gestured for Cahir to go in front of him, bringing up the rear.

Down the stairs, Lambert looked ready to shove Geralt and Eskel out of the way. He turned to Cahir at the bottom, arms out wide. “Welcome to the Basement, capital B. This is where all the fun toys are.”

By fun toys, he meant weapons. Cahir had been in a weapons storage area before but those all looked dusty and put to shame by comparison. The Basement was a veritable treasure trove and Cahir would have spent more time watching Lambert coo and caress explosives but his eyes caught on a sniper rifle. Not just any old one, it was one that he favoured and got to use once before the army decided it was too expensive for a common sniper. He stepped up to it and reverently brushed a hand over the barrel, feeling like he was touching something forbidden.

“Geralt ordered that in specially for you,” Jaskier said from behind him. “Took a bit of time to figure out what you favoured.”

“I used this just once.” Cahir looked back at the rifle. “I mean, it’s a beauty but other than the confidential debrief from that tour, I don’t think it is noted anywhere.”

It was Jaskier’s turn to smile, looking all sorts of smug. “Communications specialists also have a knack for hacking you know.” Cahir’s jaw dropped. “Call it Witcher privileges.”

Witcher privilege indeed. Cahir didn’t know any other unit that had a veritable goldmine of weaponry in their basement. They weren’t just any old weapons either. Top of the range, modern, obviously well cared for. A corner of the room drew Cahir’s attention. It held a display case with a range of less than practical weapons. At the top were two long swords, below it a battle axe, under it a set of throwing stars and knives, next to which sat some ornate daggers. They were so out of place, Cahir had to wander over and take a closer look.

“I wouldn’t touch those,” Eskel warned, appearing next to him out of the blue. “You’ll have your own but we don’t touch each other’s.”

“What are they?”

“Technology doesn’t always have the answers. Sometimes, we go traditional.”

Idly, Cahir had to wonder how they picked such impractical weapons and what it meant to them. He couldn’t imagine how those would come into use. Silencers had been a thing for quite a while now if they were worried about noise. Behind him, Geralt clapped his hands.

“You know the drill. Load up, pack smart.” He turned to Lambert. “Go easy on the C4, I got another note waved at me by Vesemir for over enthusiastic use last time.”

Eskel coughed a less than subtle “hoarder” which had Lambert giving him a shove.

“No roughhousing in the Basement!” Geralt yelled. It was Jaskier who herded the two up the stairs with threats of being banned from the “magical room of fun”. It left Geralt and Cahir in the Basement and the floor above them thumped as Eskel and Lambert resumed their wrestling in a more suitable spot.

In the muffled silence, Cahir and Geralt stared at each other before Cahir lost his composure and his lips ticked up with a small snort.

“I didn’t realise you ran a creche.”

“If that’s the case, you’re not here as an employee,” Geralt shot back.

“I’ve always been more of a teacher’s pet.”

They both knew it was a bare faced lie and Geralt shook his head, amused. “I think Vesemir might qualify as an adult. But only on a good day.”

That definitely sounded like it held a story but it wasn’t one to be pried for. Instead, Cahir decided that he could at least be a little bit sensible and began sorting out what he might need. The rocket launcher was tempting but lugging it around was too much effort. Plus, it was meant to be a stealth mission. He was so busy sorting things out, he almost missed Geralt’s very quiet question.

“Do you think I’m doing the right thing?”

“By not letting them wrestle in here? Yes.” Cahir wanted to believe he knew what Geralt was truly asking but there was no way he was kicking that particular wasps’ nest in case he was wrong. Judging by the frustrated grunt, Cahir hadn’t guessed wrong.

“I mean Jaskier. Don’t play dumb, it’s not a cute look on you.”

Tetchy. Cahir had to tread lightly. “It’s not my place to say whether you’re doing right or wrong. But if you’re both hurting because of your decisions then maybe it’s time to reassess.”

“But what if the other option hurts more in the end?”

There were so many answers Cahir could give, he could cite Lambert and Eskel, could offer himself as an example but Geralt saw all those and seemed deliberately obtuse in the face of it.

“Would you rather hurt now and in the future?” It wasn’t like there wasn’t a very real risk that one or all of them wouldn’t make it back, that wasn’t something any of them could deny. “Despite what people say, there is no borrowing happiness from the future. You make your own happiness in the moment. The hurt will come regardless of the now.”

Another grunt was his only reply for a moment. Then Geralt growled as he dropped a casing of bullets. “Forget I asked.”

They continued working in silence and eventually were joined by the other three. Both Lambert and Eskel looked quite ruffled and happy while Jaskier only rolled his eyes at them. All too soon, everyone was set, Geralt liberated a block of C4 from Lambert, passing it to Eskel to put away. Really, he trusted too easily because Eskel sneaked it back to Lambert as soon as Geralt’s back was turned.

“We’re moving out tomorrow at 10:30. You have time to yourselves until then.” With that, Geralt marched out of the Basement. The others followed one by one, Eskel going last and locking his side of the trap door.

At a bit of a loss, Cahir was surprised when Lambert snagged his arm and dragged him out of the house, Eskel leading the way. They ended up in the clearing that Cahir and Geralt had sat in not long after Cahir had arrived. It felt like a lifetime ago. Lambert flopped down onto his back and stared at the sky, boneless yet graceful. A little more stiff, Eskel sat down next to him and let himself be pulled down. Two sets of eyes looked at Cahir, silently pleading until he joined them on the hard ground. Above them, the clouds drifted.

“Slight change of plan to the usual,” Lambert said out of the blue. “You still get almost everything, Esk. But Kitten still gets the knotting dildo. And I want Cahir to have my collection of grenade pins.”

So many questions and Cahir could assume answers about half of them. However, one was unfathomable. “Kitten?”

“He’s another Witcher,” Eskel explained. “We have an arrangement with him, no string attached except of course it’s more complicated than that.”

As if things weren’t complicated enough for Cahir already. He wanted to ask what that meant for him and his place in their lives.

“When he stops being a pussy, I mean Cat Witcher,” Lambert groused, “he gets the right to pull those strings. He’d adore you, by the way.” He twisted to look at Cahir. “I know we do. Hopefully you’ll meet him and give him a chance. It’s not just sex but he doesn’t want to call it more.”

“What we mean-” it was good that Eskel helped try to explain, “-is that you mean the world to us and we want to keep you. But we’d appreciate it if you didn’t discard the idea of meeting him and giving him a chance.”

It was obvious that this was something Lambert and Eskel had talked about and Cahir wasn’t one to trample over hopes and dismiss people without meeting them. If this mysterious Kitten ever showed up, they would have to have a conversation and see how things panned out.

“I think I would like to meet him,” he offered hesitantly. “If he has your seal of approval, he must be special.”

“Thank you.” The topic seemed to be closed because on the next breath Eskel was back to their previous conversation. “You’re getting my everything Lamb. Except Kitten gets my books and Cahir the games - I think he will appreciate Goat Simulator more than you.”

It very much sounded like they were talking about wills but Cahir couldn’t quite believe it. They made it sound so cheerfully straightforward.

“What about you?” Lambert asked. “Got any family you are leaving your stuff to?”

“I have a will?” This was so bizarre and not something Cahir could quite wrap his head around. “It’s not like I have much. Most of it will probably end up at the tip. And I think I’ve asked for anything of value to be left to a veterans’ charity.” Truth be told, he’d made his will without much thought, just to make it easier for whoever had to sort through his personal effects if he got killed in action. It wasn’t like he had anything of value or anyone to leave anything to either.

Cahir didn’t expect Lambert to roll on top of him and bodily pin him. “That’s the saddest fucking thing I’ve heard. When we’re back, we’re taking you shopping and finding you an interest to indulge in. Eskel’s got his books, I’ve got my grenade pins and Kitten has his porcelain cats, Jaskier his music and Geralt his horse.”

“I can see you with a-” Eskel hummed thoughtfully and turned onto his stomach, pressing flush against the other two, “-a school of haunted dolls.”

That had Cahir laughing under Lambert. Of all the things, he hadn’t been expecting that. “No chance. I’m kind of terrified of the paranormal. Which doesn’t exist, by the way, but I have a healthy wariness of it all the same.”

After a beat of silence, Cahir finally decided to throw all caution to the wind. The other two were being so open and honest, he could return the favour. “You know what I’ve always wanted? Those tiny little plushies. With their small beady eyes and creepy smiles.”

“I know just the shop to get them!” Eskel sounded so enthusiastic while Lambert pulled his phone from his pocket, not moving from above Cahir, even if his elbows were digging in. A couple of taps later, his eyes lit up. He flashed his phone at Eskel who nodded with a small laugh.

Another series of taps and Lambert looked so proud as he turned his phone to show the picture of a small, fuzzy frog plushie. “Your collection has started, congratulations.”

Eskel leaned in to kiss first Lambert’s cheek then Cahir’s. A holler of “get a room” had them looking at Jaskier who was approaching them with a bounce in his step.

“Recording go okay?” Eskel called.

“Like always.” At the puzzled look, Jaskier settled on his back next to Cahir, ignoring how Lambert still hadn’t moved. “I record a video message before each mission. To tell my family to go fuck themselves and tell those who matter that I love them.”

Nobody needed to ask who a specific person that mattered was. However, Lambert and Eskel nodded along like they’d had this conversation a million times before so maybe it was okay to know. Cahir tipped his head in acknowledgement. “I’m surprised you don’t put all your wishes into song. Or rap.”

“Or slam poetry,” Eskel butted in.

“Slam poetry is banned in the house,” Geralt’s voice drew their attention and he stepped up next to Eskel, passing him a sealed envelope. Without a word, Eskel took it and put it in his pocket.

Places to settle comfortably were slim pickings and Geralt gingerly dropped down next to Jaskier and resolutely stared at the sky. Lambert finally rolled off Cahir and the five of them lay back, watching the clouds float over them in silence. Never before had Cahir really had a pre-mission ritual but he was so grateful to be included in the one the others had obviously worked out over the years.

That night, Cahir got pulled into Lambert and Eskel’s room with a declaration of “we don’t want to regret not doing something”. It was definitely a night Cahir would remember for the rest of his life, no matter how long it was. Pressed between Lambert and Eskel, he couldn’t think of a better place to be. Only briefly did he think of Geralt and Jaskier, alone in their beds, potentially their last night in the place they called home, and they could have been sharing it together. That thought was only fleeting as Lambert did something with his tongue and Cahir’s mind was washed through with pleasure.

In the morning, they stumbled out of the room more or less dressed for travelling. All their bags had been amassed by the front door the night before and Geralt stood by them. He looked over the three and rolled his eyes.

“Breakfast is ready. Jaskier style.” Lambert whooped at that and Eskel shook his head. Personally, Cahir didn’t know whether to be intrigued or scared. Thankfully, Jaskier style turned out to be anything with an immediate shelf life being cooked up so there was a mound of differently made eggs, bacon, pancakes and cartons of milk.

“Eat up boys. And Lambert?” Jaskier eyed them critically. “There’s a carton of milk just for you on the side. Add all the sugar and honey you want to it.”

For once, nobody teased Lambert about his penchant for warm honey and spiced milk. In fact, Cahir looked interested enough that a small mug of it was slid across the table for him to try. The one good thing about the group was that nobody commented on the bite marks and bruises visible on Eskel’s neck. While Geralt pretended they weren’t there, Jaskier’s eyes lingered on them but he seemed to have enough tact to not mention them. Unlike Lambert who openly ogled them and leered whenever he got caught.

Locking up the house felt strange. Geralt turned the key and then faced the group who all watched.

“We’ll be back soon enough.”

A chorus of agreements rippled through the others. They were strangely quiet on their way down to the tarmac and the transport plane. Before, Cahir had listened to dumb songs to lift morale, to raise spirits and also to bond. With the witchers, it was much more of a subdued affair. For a change, Eskel was walking beside Geralt, occasionally they exchanged a few quiet words but mostly seemed content in their silence. Lambert was out ahead, doing whatever it was Lambert did. Which left Jaskier beside Cahir.

“Your first mission with us, excited?” Jaskier’s smalltalk was infinitely better than any kind of singing.

“Overwhelmed. First time there’s a name and face to a mission.” Previously, it had all been nameless faces and general orders to defend or take over areas. It was the first time Cahir knew exactly who they were going after. Plus, it was a big name too, one he’d heard about on base before.

Humming, Jaskier shrugged. “Makes it easier in my head. I know exactly who we’re taking down and why.”

They fell back into silence for a bit until Jaskier looked at him almost shyly. “I’m glad you sorted things out with Lambert and Eskel.” His longing gaze towards Geralt wasn’t missed.

“When we get back,” Cahir promised, “we will make him see sense. I can’t have you pining while I get my happy ending.”

Hopefully it was the right thing to say because Jaskier smiled and bumped his shoulder against Cahir’s.

“Don’t jinx it. If we get back, not when we get back.”

Which was a rather morbid and depressing thought. While Cahir knew there was always the risk of not coming back, it somehow felt less likely when they were a small, bonded unit and their opponent was one man.

One man in a very well guarded compound, as it turned out. The flight then bumpy ride out to the desert had been uneventful if long. Somehow, Eskel had seemed to spend most of it asleep against Lambert or Cahir, snoring away.

“It’s an Eskel thing,” Geralt had shrugged while Eskel was slumped against him, dead to the world. With a practiced hand, Geralt held him in place as the car drove over a bump, jostling everyone up into the air.

Eventually, they made it to camp. It was nothing more than a bunch of air dropped boxes that they were going to need to gather and set up a tent from. Most of their actual equipment had travelled with them already.

“Set up. Early night. Tomorrow Eskel and Lambert will head into the nearest settlement and get us supplies.”

Somehow, when Cahir signed up for the army, he hadn’t expected tent building to feature so heavily in his duties. But there he was, helping erect a mess tent, a communications/operations tent and two sleeping tents. It cheered him up to no end when Lambert and Eskel called dibs on one of them and declared that Cahir would be sleeping with them. Which meant Geralt and Jaskier were ‘gifted’ the other tent. Eskel drew the line at sabotaging one of the camping beds to force them to share. It wasn’t like Geralt wouldn’t pull rank anyway, knowing all too well that Lambert and Eskel would end up cuddled on the ground and probably dragging Cahir into their nest too.

In the morning Eskel and Lambert took off and Cahir tried not to stare at the two of them on the motorbikes. Not that Jaskier seemed any better with his appreciative staring, except he playfully dug an elbow into Cahir’s side with a knowing grin. They spent most of their time helping Jaskier set up his equipment, putting together aerials, battery packs, plugging things together while he tinkered with who knew what. For the first time, Cahir felt every bit the dumb sniper in the presence of those who had an education before enlisting.

“This is the ever dashing Dandelion casting his seeds to the wind,” Jaskier sang into the microphone Geralt had pulled out from a bag about half an hour ago.

After a brief crackle, a voice replied. “This is the Sorceress, reading you loud and clear.”

“Yennefer! My dearly detested! How bewitching to hear your cackle again.”

It was like no communication Cahir had ever heard between base and central command before. Even he was squirming at the sickly sweet rivalry between HQ and Jaskier. Not to mention the clear breaking of protocol by using names. However, Geralt didn’t seem too bothered by it. 

What Geralt did look more constipated by was the return of Lambert and Eskel. Plus a goat. At least Eskel looked a little guilty as he led the goat closer. It wasn’t even on a tether, just following him happily.

“You were meant to stop any goat acquisitions,” Geralt grumbled at Lambert.

“Did you really expect me to say no to such a face?”

Silently, Cahir was uncertain who he agreed with more. On one hand, they really didn’t need a goat at their base. But on the other hand, Cahir was loath to deny Eskel anything; Lambert was right, it was impossible to say no when Eskel turned sad eyes on someone. Thus, Lil Bleater stayed. Nobody mentioned how there were already supplies in bags to make a lean-to shelter and a pen for a goat, along with a trough. All through building the pen, Eskel had a smile on his face.

That smile was less visible when they all started itching and scratching. At first, Eskel had tried to be subtle about it. However, Lambert was less careful. He scratched at himself until he was bloody and cursing while Cahir valiantly tried to ignore the raised, red lumps of insect bites.

“Eskel!” Geralt bellowed from the shower one morning. “Sort your fucking goat out.”

Fleas were the last thing Cahir had anticipated encountering but there they were. In the end, Jaskier gestured for Cahir to join him on an excursion into the nearest settlement. While Cahir didn’t speak any of the language, he got to enjoy watching Jaskier flirt and barter at a tavern. It made him wonder whether Geralt had ever seen Jaskier in action and got jealous. Probably. That was neither here nor there when Jaskier turned triumphantly, a jug of something in his hands.

“Guard this like it’s Lambert’s last bottle of lube,” he said, passing the jug over and all but skipping out of the tavern.

Curious, Cahir popped the bung open and took a cautious whiff. A gag swiftly followed as the pungent stench of vinegar burned his nose and throat. Hastily shoving the bung back in its place, he scurried after Jaskier, not quite understanding just what they needed vinegar of all things for. He didn’t think their rations and cooking was so bad.

The bike ride back was fairly uneventful. Cahir pretended not to see Jaskier present Geralt with not just the vinegar but also a package from what looked like a bakery stall in the market where they first started their hunt for vinegar.

“Idiots, the both of them,” Lambert grumbled as he scratched at his hip.

“Stop scratching. You’ll only make it worse.” Eskel smacked Lambert with a rag but it didn’t have the desired effect. Instead of stopping, Lambert continued to scratch while looking at Eskel with a leer.

“Save that for later, if you know what I mean.”

Later did not bring any of the promised fun. Jaskier had been left in charge of the vinegar, along with Eskel. It was diluted down and mixed with a few more herbs. If Cahir wasn’t mistaken, Jaskier had conjured up some scented oils and was making Eskel sniff them while he chattered away a mile a minute. Several flasks of the stuff was put on the side, stoppered and ready. Jaskier snagged two and wandered up to Geralt, tugging him to the tub that was serving as their bath. The screen didn’t afford much privacy, especially not from Jaskier’s voice. He seemed to be quite happy to be giving Geralt a bath, telling him to lean forward, back, tip his head towards him. All in all, it sounded like quite a relaxing time for Geralt, even if he grumbled and growled in a low voice every now and then. It took a while but eventually they both emerged smelling mostly of vinegar and hints of chamomile. If Cahir didn’t know any better, he would have said the two had been dating for close to a decade, given how they communicated.

“I’ll do Bleats before I do you,” Eskel informed Lambert. “We both know she’ll be less trouble.”

If only he had been exaggerating and teasing. Cahir watched from a distance as Eskel washed his goat, giving her a thorough scrub and rinse. She seemed happy enough, occasionally bleating and only trying to trot off twice. Mostly, she nibbled at Eskel’s hair. As interesting as it was, there was no denying that Cahir was watching more for the fact Eskel was shirtless and sweating as he worked. Without any shame, Lambert lounged next to him, occasionally wolf-whistling when Eskel bent low, shapely backside in the air. After the third time, even Cahir cottoned on that he was doing it on purpose.

There was definitely trouble when it came to Lambert, Eskel and Cahir got to the tub. First off, Cahir couldn’t stand the smell of vinegar. Even with Jaskier’s oils, he still gagged and couldn’t bring himself to douse his body in it. It resulted in a rather humiliating trip to Jaskier and Geralt’s shared tent with the request for more oil to try and mask the stench. The temptation to take the whole bottle of oil and upend it was strong, almost as much as the desire to ask why Jaskier had so many oils. It would forever remain a mystery because a yowl went up from the bath area which had Cahir bolting to help whatever foul thing had befallen the other two.

“Stop it!” Lambert was whining and Cahir rounded the screen to see Eskel pinning Lambert to the edge of the tub and pouring the vinegar over him.

“Just close your eyes. You’ve had worse!”

“But it stings.” The last syllable was lost in a gurgle as Lambert ended up with a mouthful of the concoction. He spluttered and spat, cursing up a storm.

Eskel looked on with zero sympathy. “I told you not to scratch.”

A wordless whine was all Lambert could respond with before Eskel dumped a bucket of clean water over his head. After witnessing that, Cahir decided he would quietly and thoroughly wash without complaint. Not that it stopped Eskel and Lambert helping him. But it was a lot more fun than Lambert’s scrub had been, gentle and teasing. Then it was time for him and Lambert to team up on Eskel. If Jaskier and Geralt hadn’t known what they were up to already, Eskel’s moans certainly gave it away without leaving space for even a hint of a doubt.

As fun as it all was, there was no denying the tension rising in the camp as they pored over the map in the communications tent, figuring out best strategies for infiltrating and extracting Stregobor. As intelligence came in and they trekked out to survey the area, a plan was definitely solidifying. It was decided that Jaskier would hang back, observing from a distance and giving instruction on any movements he saw. Somewhat closer, Cahir would be hidden behind an outcrop as backup in case of trouble. Geralt, Eskel and Lambert would go in, grab Stregobor and leave. As soon as they were clear of the compound, they’d be calling in for a rendezvous with their extraction team. All in all, a fairly straightforward plan.

To start with, it was all according to plan. Jaskier dropped off from the group as agreed, maintaining a good visual position but not close enough to be in danger. Peeling off from the group, Cahir climbed the outcrop and settled into position, tapping his comms to say he was ready. On the ground, the three approached the compound, Geralt out front. It was like a pack of wolves and suddenly Cahir understood how the team got its name. Individually, they were already a threat. But working together? Downright deadly. Alarmingly large but silent, swift and light on their feet, they absolutely embodied their callsign.

Things went tits up from the moment they stepped into the compound. It wasn’t the patrolling guards that caught them but a woman who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Cahir could hear Eskel trying to reason with her, to keep her quiet. It was to no avail, the woman threw her head back and screamed, pulling a gun from her clothes. Without hesitation, Cahir took the shot.

“Shit. Sniper!” Jaskier called. “11 o’clock, in the tree cluster.”

He hit the ground as shots rang out. Cahir couldn’t waste time checking if he was okay. Another sniper spelled trouble for them all. Scanning the trees, he caught the glint of a rifle. Taking a deep breath, Cahir aimed, released his breath and pulled the trigger.

While he took out the sniper, the three in the compound were overwhelmed. At close quarters, their guns were useless and, despite everything, when it was three against 20 plus, it was never a fair contest. Separated and brought to their knees, Cahir could only watch. If he shot now, they would be executed without hesitation. As long as they were alive, there were hopes of getting them out one way or another. He watched as they were questioned, Eskel was pistol whipped but he stayed silent, even as blood trickled down the side of his face.

Throughout it all, Lambert had been uncharacteristically quiet. And, on a second look, he was holding back a smirk while something just about glinted from between his lips. Naturally, his captors noticed too. Without any finesse, fingers pried between his lips and pulled something out. Cahir used his scope to try and see better. It seemed like a ring. Which made no sense until Cahir looked to Lambert’s face. He was grinning around a mouthful of grenade. Shouts went up when Lambert made a show of coughing and gagging, the grenade slowly slipping from between his lips. As his captors stepped back, he was pulling it from his mouth like a shot and lobbing it with a yell of “grenade!” which had Eskel and Geralt hitting the ground.

The explosion was blinding. Cahir had flattened himself against the outcrop out of habit, even if he was nowhere close to the danger zone. Shouts went up and he could hear someone coughing over the comms.

“Wolves, report!” Jaskier barked.

“White wolf,” Geralt groaned.

“Beta wolf.” Eskel sounded only marginally better.

Lambert hissed before he spoke. “Baby wolf is fucked.”

Before anything more could be said, the compound buzzed into activity, people were bearing down on the three.

“Eskel, get Lambert out. That’s an order!”

Training and hierarchy kicked in and Cahir watched as Eskel grabbed Lambert, pulled him to his feet and started towards the edge of the compound. When it became obvious Lambert was struggling, he got slung over Eskel’s shoulders and Eskel burst into a slightly staggered run. From his back, Lambert hurled another explosive, kicking up sand and debris, giving them the chance to escape.

Cahir was down and by Jaskier, each on a bike and waiting. Lambert got placed behind Jaskier before Eskel clambered up behind Cahir. In any other situation it would have been something to be enjoyed. As it was, they gunned the engines and swerved away from each other, trying to avoid the bullets flying after them.

They got lucky. Nobody followed them back to their camp and they all piled into the communications tent where the first aid box was. First things first was Lambert. His leg had been twisted under him in the first blast and then someone had the audacity to fall on him. After a quick assessment, it was deemed that his knee was wrenched but probably not severely damaged. A support was wrapped around it for now and he declared it good enough.

By contrast, Eskel didn’t look too injured but that was deceiving. His ears were ringing from the blast and he had one extraordinary concussion.

“We fucked up,” he murmured more than once. “Need to call it in.”

It was protocol. They’d failed, Geralt was captured. The rules were that they call for immediate extraction so the damage they caused could be assessed and Geralt declared a lost asset.

“Bull-fucking-shit,” Lambert growled. “We’re not leaving him.”

“I’m second in command. Are you going against direct orders of your superior?”

Lambert poked Eskel in the chest and loomed over him. “What are you going to do about it?”

“Look,” Eskel sighed in exasperation, “I don’t want to leave Geralt in those monsters’ hands either. We’ve heard enough about Stregobor. But I’m in charge now, you’re my second. If we both go rogue, do you really want to leave Jaskier in charge?”

“Like fuck you are!” Jaskier butted in.

“And I think I’m too new to be left in charge,” Cahir added slyly.

Groaning, Eskel dropped his head back. “We’re so getting court martialed for this. But fuck it. We’re going in for Geralt and Stregobor tonight.”

Fine words from a concussed man. Cahir thought maybe Lambert or Jaskier would overrule him or call in backup. That didn’t come. The communications radio was unplugged and Jaskier looked viciously gleeful about it.

“Oh!” Eskel held up a hand to pause everyone. Without another word, he left the tent. There were the sounds of furious rummaging before he returned, triumphant, a letter in hand. “This is for you!”

He plopped back down next to Lambert with a grunt, looking rather pleased with himself. “I was going to give you that if you were resistant to the idea of a rescue.”

“But I’m not?” Jaskier raised an eyebrow at him.

“Consider it fuel to the fire.”

Silently, Jaskier pulled the letter from the envelope. It wasn’t a long letter and Cahir recognised it as that one Geralt had passed Eskel in the clearing in front of the house. He leaned closer to whisper to Eskel, “But Geralt’s isn’t dead?”

Looking all too smug, Eskel nodded. “I know.”

Whatever was in the letter, Jaskier kept a straight face as he read it. Once through, he nodded once, carefully put the letter back in the envelope and tucked it into a pocket. There was an air of expectation from the other three which Jaskier seemed blissfully oblivious to.

Lambert couldn’t take it anymore and asked a curious “well?” which seemed enough to draw Jaskier’s attention.

“Well, it’s a very private letter.” The silence stretched and Jaskier took a deep breath. “I have an idiot to rescue just so I can murder him myself.”

Lambert and Eskel cheered.

As they day wore on, Jaskier fashioned Lambert a better knee brace and plied Eskel with painkillers as often as the guidelines allowed. Once they were settled over a map and plotting while Lambert seemed to be making a couple of molotov cocktails, Cahir followed Jaskier to the weapons crate.

“So how are we going to do this?” he asked.

The curious side glance from Jaskier wasn’t encouraging. “We’ll come up with something. Lambert and Eskel are on it.”

Cahir blinked in disbelief. “They’re injured. It would make more sense for you and I to sneak in. How do you expect the other two to be anything but a liability?”

“They’re Witchers.” That didn’t explain anything but a small, serene smile from Jaskier silenced any protest Cahir may have had.”You’ll understand.”

Obviously Cahir didn’t but when he pushed, citing how much worse the court martial was going to be if they dragged injured team members into the fray, Jaskier eyed him up.

“You’ve never seen a Witcher being court martialed, have you? We do it via peers. Another Witcher will come and be garotter, jury and judge.”

There was no room to argue, especially when Jaskier turned and marched back to the communications tent. Faced with a choice, Cahir followed him, knowing he couldn’t in good conscience let the three idiots go in while he sat back and twiddled his thumbs, waiting for a rescue.

The rest of the afternoon was spent pulling the tents down, finding Lil Bleater a new herd to call home and, as darkness set, Jaskier plugged the communications together again.

“Dandelion calling Sorceress,” he said, a wide smile, waiting for acknowledgement.

“What have you done now? You never use proper codes.”

“We’re blowing this shithole.” There was a certain amount of flourish to his moments as he pulled the machine apart again, cutting off Yennefer’s “What? Damnit Jaskier, not again!”

They took three bikes. Lambert and Eskel on one, snickering as they figured out who drove and how. Cahir wanted to despair but he was rather distracted by the battleaxe on Eskel’s back. He’d seen Lambert squirrel away a surprising number of throwing knives and stars while Jaskier had a dagger on each hip. On his back were Geralt’s swords.

As they moved off, Lambert turned and lobbed a bottle with a lit rag in it in an elegant arc. The remains of their camp went up in flames. Getting as close to the compound as they dared, they dismounted and looked out over the enemy territory.

“We have our objectives. We have our lives. We come out with both or neither,” Eskel declared and the others nodded. They were going in.

A sniper rifle was useless in close quarters so Cahir had left it in a crate in favour of a couple of pistols. He was at the back, Lambert out front. The knee brace seemed to be doing its job as he lithely climbed the fence, flipping over the top with a grim smile. From the inside, he sliced open a hole with some wire cutters, pulling it inwards to let the other in. As soon as they were in, he pushed it back. To the naked eye in the dark, it looked like the fence might be buckling in a little but the gap was not immediately obvious. Cahir was impressed.

If Cahir had been under the impression that stealth was the name of the game, he was bitterly wrong. They were quiet but there was no attempt to avoid the enemy at all costs. Between Lambert’s throwing and Jaskier’s daggers, range was no issue for the first couple of assailants. It was only when the alarm was raised that Eskel pulled his axe out. At such close quarters, even pistols were useless. Cahir could pick the enemy off as they approached but he didn’t have time to reload. In the end, he threw the pistols to try and knock opponents out. But then he was weaponless and didn’t really fancy killing with his bare hands. Casting a glance around, he saw a whip on a wall and made a run for it. 

It sat strange in his hand but Cahir gave silent thanks to the one summer he had been sent off to a ranch as a rowdy teenager. There wasn’t much he had wanted to do but the old woman who ran the place had him whipping cans and figurines off logs. He hadn’t been exceptionally good at it, but he had the basics, plus the words “no matter what, never ever turn your whip on another human being”. Cahir was going to disappoint her one last time, almost 20 years down the line.

The whip cracked through the air and licked up an enemy’s shoulder. It was enough of a distraction for Eskel to bring his axe down, cleaving through neck, shoulder and chest. He sent Cahir a grateful nod and twirled to fend off a blow to the back. Between the four of them, it was bloody work. Cahir had never thought he’d end up with viscera stuck in his hair as a sniper but there he was. Jaskier was dripping in blood and Eskel had sprays of it across his chest and one cheek. Oddly, Lambert seemed the cleanest, mostly his hands were black in the low light.

“Prison area is that way,” Eskel announced and led the way. They dispatched of a few more guards along the way and Lambert muttered about this being more a job for a Cat than Wolves, given the amount of blood. They were finally in the building that allegedly housed captives.

Holding a hand up, Eskel halted them by the window. They could hear a voice.

“You can see we’re no animals.” A too smooth voice was saying. “You’d be a cherished, no worshipped around here. A man of your abilities would be revered. Don’t you want that?”

A typical Geralt hum was the reply. Jaskier looked at the others and mouthed “Stregobor” which got a couple of nods. At least their two objectives were in the same place.

“Right now you’re an asset, a weapon that’s been blunted and left behind. You know Witcher protocols as well as I do. You’ve been written off. All us to give you a new pack, Wolf. You’re strong, brave, cunning. Don’t waste those qualities.”

Lambert pretended to gag around two fingers.

“There’s one wolf quality you forgot,” Geralt growled.

“What’s that?”

“Loyalty.”

As if on cue, Lambert popped up in the window and threw the first thing that came to hand from his belt that wasn’t sharp or bladed. A brick of C4 sailed through the air and smacked Stregobor in the face. He went down as the others hopped through the window.

“Ha!” Lambert cheered as he tied up Stregobor’s hands while Eskel knelt on his back. “You can tell Vesemir C4 saved the day!”

His words had no reply and Cahir glanced to Geralt. He was sat in a comfortable looking chair, no ties but no weapons either. He also had a lapful of Jaskier who left bloody handprints on his cheeks from where he cupped them.

“You stubborn, righteous oaf!” Jaskier had tears in his eyes. “Don’t you fucking dare die and just leave me a pathetic letter telling me you wished you could have been braver.”

Before anyone could yell at them to kiss already, Jaskier was doing it. Desperation and relief mixed and Cahir had to glance away, wanting to give them a moment’s privacy.

“Alright.” Eskel cleared his throat and stood, picking Stregobor up like a sack of potatoes, throwing him over his shoulder. “Jaskier called in for clean-up so evac should be here soon.”

Cahir watched as Lambert picked up the block of C4. He pointed it menacingly at Geralt. “I deserve this.”

They were out of the compound and by their bikes when the compound went up in a series of explosions. Watching Lambert was like watching a kid with fireworks. Except there was a lot more blood and Cahir didn’t anticipate being pulled in for a kiss first by Lambert then Eskel who had dumped Stregobor on the ground to watch, arms slung around each of his boyfriends’ shoulders.

Debrief with Vesemir mostly consisted of the man pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing heavily. Somehow, Cahir got the impression this mission wasn’t even all that unusual in terms of how things panned out. In Lambert’s words, “we achieved the objective, the rest is just artistic license.”

Getting home to Kaer Morhen was a relief. Even if the climb up was spent mostly bitching about how remote and impractical it was. Lambert’s knee had a support but no brace while Eskel had been given quite the telling off by medical for doing anything other than seeking advice after being pistol whipped. Geralt had come away surprisingly unscathed despite being captured by the enemy and Jaskier bitched about having blood caught under his nails.

“Fuck the house-” Lambert declared, “-we’re going in the hot tub.”

A chorus of agreements went up and they rounded the house, only to blink in surprise. There was a lone figure already in their tub.

“Kitten!” Lambert crowed and didn’t stop stripping.

Even more interestingly, Eskel seemed intent on joining them. “Didn’t think you’d be here.”

The so-called Kitten glanced at Geralt and Jaskier, then proceeded to raised a beer at them. “You got your heads out your asses. Good job. Court martial over.”

Cahir would have sputtered except he stepped closer and got a better look at the man. “Aiden?”

Four sets of eyes turned to him along with Lambert’s “you know him?” which seemed to be echoed silently by the other wolves.

“Cahir!” Aiden grinned. “I wasn’t sure where you’d end up! So you’re the mysterious collector of creepy tiny plushies. I can’t believe I had to go into a shop and buy one just to impress you.”

“Babe,” Lambert butted in, “back the fuck up. What?”

Aiden laughed. To be fair, Cahir was kind of with Lambert on that one. “Well, I wanted to impress your new beau, so I bought one of those plushies to make a good impression. But, it turns out, Cahir and I met on a night out. I’m afraid I got him into a bit of trouble.”

“Understatement,” Cahir scoffed but it was without any malice.

“Wait.” Eskel slipped into the tub as he spoke. “You’re the reason Cahir was almost discharged.”

“Guilty! But I made up for it!” Aiden shrugged. “Guxart owed me a favour. Said he’d talk to the other heads and see if they can get a placement sorted for him. Such a cutie couldn’t be punished for wanting a roll in the hay with me. Anyway, seems Guxart and Vesemir had a private chat and came to an agreement.” He leered and winked which had Lambert screeching.

“Don’t need to think about that! Nope!”

“Vesemir and Guxart, sitting in a tree,” Aiden sang and Eskel shoved him under water.

A hand squeezed Cahir’s shoulder. He turned and looked at Jaskier who was grinning. “So you’ve already met Kitten. We’ll leave you to figure things out. Won’t we?” A hard stare was sent Geralt’s way.

“Whoo!” Lambert yelled even as he thumped Aiden on the back to help him cough. “Go fuck! Just remember to use plenty of lube. There’s some in the kitchen cupboard if you need extra.”

It was better to not ask why there was lube in the kitchen cupboard. Cahir took his cue from the others and stripped without much shame. They were going to have a nice chat in the hot tub, to clear up what was going on between them and, mostly, to give Geralt and Jaskier the house. Nobody wanted to walk in on them fucking. Not for their first time anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> More short stories can be found on tumblr @jaskiersvalley. Please give @jenniferb-art a lot of love for the amazing art in the comments!


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